Chibitalia and Chibiromano: Tales of Mischief
by zigglezoo33
Summary: A oneshot booklet compiling random scenarios that happened throughout the Spanish and Austrian rule of the two seperate Italys. Expect a lot of cute fluff. Also, Romano's swearing. My god do I suck at summaries... Spamano(platonic for now), HREtaly, and the weird-ass love triangle of PruAusHun to be expected! Cover art done by me. Requests open(PM me), please R&R, and ENJOY!
1. Chapter 1: Artist in the Making

**Chapter 1: Artist in the Making**

 **Hey y'all! It's my first time writing the chibis, so take it easy on me, okay?**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, it belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz and all other publishers.**

* * *

Italy hummed quietly to himself as he swept the floor of the main hallway. Other than that, the only noise to be heard throughout HRE's gigantic mansion was the swishing of the broom against the wooden floor. Seeing as not **many** people frequented the labyrinth of hallways, the only residents being little Italy, Austria, the Holy Roman Empire, and Hungary, there was always a thin layer of dust building up in the many corridors.

Sometimes, if Italy happened across some tucked-away room that he had forgotten to clean, he would find the whole room to be coated in a few inches' layer of dust. Needless to say, those unfortunate happenings were a lot of work for Italy's small hands.

The corridors themselves were rather barren, save for the wall lights, the chests of drawers, and of course the abundant oil and watercolour paintings that were hung every few metres or so.

The paintings themselves took up most of the space on the patterned walls. Fantastical landscapes and faraway kingdoms, summer countrysides and winter forests, all of them stood to attention from their high positions. Often, Italy found it very hard not to admire the magnificent pictures while he did his chores.

No matter how many times Italy's observant eyes scrutinized the paintings, he was always blown away by their intense colour schemes and dazzling settings. He too enjoyed spotting the magical creatures that his among the dense underbrush or the high canopies.

Oh, but how he wished he could draw like that!

Before Mr. Austria had taken young Italy into his custody, his Grandpa Rome had been responsible for his upbringing. Indeed, it was he that taught Italy all he knew about the arts.

Italy missed sitting beside his grandfather on warm summer afternoons, painting the beautiful Italian countryside with his soft words of advice and rough, calloused hands to guide him. His grandfather's warm presence was always a source of comfort throughout Italy's childhood, something familiar throughout the troubles of nationhood.

His heart hurt thinking about his famiglia, so far away. How was his _fratello_ doing? Italy had had to leave before he could be sure.

Drawing, other than singing or dancing, gave him a distraction from his homesickness. It was something constant that kept both his mind and hands busy.

If anything, he simply wanted a scrap of paper to sketch on. He hadn't really gotten the chance to show anything to the other residents of the house. Italy wasn't really sure whether Holy Rome would be interested in his art, and neither Austria or Hungary had seen his pencil sketches, let alone his paintings. But then again, there was also the question of whether Austria would give him anything to draw with at all, considering the stunt he had pulled last week.

Italy giggled to himself as he remembered the horrified look on Mr. Austria's face when he happened upon the ruined portrait of himself, vandalized by no other than the tiny, delicate hands of Italy Veneziano. Well, he supposed he also had the help of that can of ink.

But _just_ black ink?

No, it wasn't enough to draw effectively. Maybe, if he had a fountain pen, which he didn't.

Italy remembered Grandpa Rome had always told him that practice was the key. Even if he wasn't there with Italy, practice would always be his guide to improvement.

And so, when he wasn't doing his many chores, the child spent most of his time outside observing his surroundings. There were so many places around the house, in Holy Rome's land-body, that were perfect to paint!

Sometimes, if he was really desperate for something to do, Italy would resort to drawing in the dirt with a stick. However, he soon found that brown didn't really suit the sky very much.

Again, Italy's thoughts strayed to the wonderful oil paint that all the best artists used. Red, yellow, blue, the endless colours that he could get by simply mixing the three of them in a palette.

How great it would be if-

Italy was pulled out of his thoughts by a sudden crash that resounded around the empty hallway. Panicked, Italy searched around for the broken vase so that he could clean it up before Mr. Austria saw it, but he found that it hadn't been him who had knocked it down.

There was a clamor of noise that originated from behind the closed door in front of the small nation. Still holding his broom, Italy glanced up at the metal plaque that would state the purpose of a room if it was important.

 _Meeting Room_. Of course.

Mr. Austria had informed both Miss Hungary and him about his conference today, and that they shouldn't disturb him, the archduchess, and the other guests. The loud shouting and banging coming from inside the room was actually no real surprise to Italy; all too often he had been the one caught in the crossfire as he attempted to serve tea.

Italy was about to move past the door when he hesitated. His childish curiosity was piqued. He hadn't any interest for politics, but maybe, maybe, he could get lucky and find a stub of charcoal, maybe a slip of unused parchment too. He felt a bit guilty about stealing, but Italy reassured himself that surely they wouldn't miss a few pieces of paper…

Italy stood up on his toes in order to reach the brass doorknob. As soon as he pushed the wooden door inwards, Italy's senses were bombarded with the chaos that was the meeting room. Italy's eyes widened in surprise, he soon realized that the noise was much louder than what he had initially thought. It almost reached such a deafening volume he couldn't hear his own heartbeat.

Everyone present in the room was either shouting at the top of their lungs or staying well away from the commotion in order to remain unscathed.

Austria himself was one of the latter, watching from the sidelines with an expression of distress marring his usually-calm demeanor.

Italy quickly ducked behind the door as one of the saucers smashed against the wood above his head.

No wonder Mr. Austria told us to keep away, Italy thought, worried for the safety of everyone in the room.

But, much to the aspiring artist's delight, pieces of parchment were flying askew in all directions. Italy snatched a few of them from the air when they passed the doorway, and hugged them all to his chest.

Italy would also have darted in to grab a pencil, but seeing the war unfolding before his eyes, he thought that maybe just ink would do for now. He could always just sneak into Mr. Austria's study with the excuse that he was cleaning. Again, a slight feeling of guilt.

Italy abruptly stepped back, broom and parchment in hand, and shut the door with a tight click. He was eager to leave the meeting confined in that room, thank you very much. Almost immediately the sound of war was muffled through the walls.

With a small, relieved huff, Italy scampered away to the kitchen as fast as his short, stubby legs and billowing green dress would allow. Maybe Miss Hungary would have a kitchen chore for him.

* * *

It was a bright, sunny afternoon when Italy decided to use his newfound 'resources'. He had taken a charcoal pencil from Mr. Austria's study; Italy was sure he wouldn't miss just one. Italy had also borrowed a hardback book from the library to keep behind the paper and ensure it from breaking.

The sheet he wanted to use had evidently flitted past the fireplace, there were vague burn marks along one side. Italy was using it as he figured that he should save the others for something more important.

Pressing the pencil into the parchment, Italy watched the fragile tip break slightly, leaving a dark mark on the light yellow.

 _Now, what to draw?_

The countryside, although beautiful, simply wasn't a good choice of subject when he only had a pencil to draw with. He needed a figure. An object. A tree? No, it had no grace. An animal? Moved around too much.

Italy was suddenly struck with an idea. No use suggesting things to himself when he could just look around, right?

He got up from the stone bench before he made his way around to the back of the house. He ran his hand along the wall as he went, enjoying the countryside.

Once there at the backyard, he was met with the sight of Miss Hungary's training grounds. Often, Prussia would visit and spar with her(when he wasn't off conquering vital regions, of course). Austria wasn't very thrilled when he'd been informed, probably still bitter from the Austro-Prussian war that had happen a couple of decades back. It was definitely only because of Hungary, he didn't want to hold back her training. She _was_ the one always protecting him, after all.

Italy was usually happy to see the albino nation. He treated Italy like a fellow soldier, not like the child he appeared to be. He still called him 'kid', though, and Miss Hungary always stopped Prussia from being too rough with him. When Italy had first attempted to call him 'Mister', Prussia had just laughed uproariously and patted young Italy on the head with his unnaturally pale hand. "Just Prussia, kid." was fine as well, apparently.

Prussia was here that day, too.

The sound of his and Hungary's practice battle rebounded against the surrounding trees magnifying it, sending the sound through to all the surrounding hills. Even from far away, Italy would have been petrified if he hadn't known better. The clang of metal on metal could be heard among the playful threats coming from both parties' mouths. Prussia, of course, was the more boastful of the two. They both looked so consumed in the heat of the battle, Italy was afraid to break their concentration. They exchanged blows which would have been deadly, had they not owned years of military experience fighting to protect and conquer.

"Psh, Hungary, you really thought you could get me with that?" Prussia laughed, dodging Hungary's sudden thrust. "It seems you haven't been improving at all! No, quite the opposite," Prussia grinned as he parried another one of the other's attacks.

"No indeed, I was just getting your guard down!"

She was quite correct in that, as not two seconds later the tip of Hungary's saber was pressed against the red-eyed country's throat. She had gotten under his guard while he had been talking, something that he often did on the battlefield. It was fortunate that most of the soldiers he faced were young, inexperienced buffoons. Only sometimes, when facing a real enemy, did he drop his happy-go-lucky façade.

Prussia chuckled, dropping his sword and raising his arms in surrender.

"Hmph. It seems you've been getting better after all..! Not everyone can defeat this hunk of awesomeness!"

Hungary rolled her eyes, but smiled warmly at him nonetheless.

Italy watched their banter from a bench across from the makeshift battle arena. Hungary, being very graceful in battle, was the perfect choice for a model to draw. Prussia too, Italy supposed. Despite the albino's annoying and unnecessary boasting, he really was exceptionally talented and ruthless in battle.

Italy watched them closely, and once he had gotten the overall base positions for the figures he worked on the clothes and detailing. The shading came after that as well.

 _This is just a rough drawing,_ Italy thought. _Maybe when I get paint, I can make it a real work of art._

Italy was just finishing the faces off when the piece of paper was snatched out of his hands. So involved was he in his drawing that he didn't notice both of the sweat-drenched nations coming towards him. The sun had already set behind the far hills, the trio had spent all afternoon outside. Prussia was the one who had taken the paper, of course.

Italy stood up on the stone bench, trying in vain to take the drawing back from Prussia. The latter, however, held it well away from the child's reach. Italy felt tears in his eyes. Prussia was going to tease him, wasn't he? He was going to say how ugly the whole thing looked, how Italy didn't get _anything_ right. The arms were probably too fat, the swords too wonky…

But for once Prussia was quiet. His eyes roved the parchment, for what Italy wasn't really certain. Gilbird twitted shrilly from his perch on Prussia's shoulder. Surprisingly, Prussia held the piece of paper carefully, not like he was about to rip it into shreds.

Then his face broke out into a huge grin. "Mein Gott, Hungary, look at this! I didn't know the kid could draw!"

Confused, Italy wiped the water from his eyes. Did that have a hidden meaning, or…?

It didn't seem like it. Prussia passed the paper to Hungary, who's face too cracked into a smile. She glanced at Italy, still holding that warm expression.

"Wow, Italy! This is really good!"

Italy swallowed thickly. They weren't making fun of him? Usually, all the human kids he'd met had torn his sketchbook from him, either dropping it into a puddle of water, snickering, or ripping the pages out while actively insulting his hard work.

"You guys really think so?" He asked quietly, eyes wide.

"Yeah!" Prussia volunteered, still grinning. "You even included Gilbird! That's always a ten outta ten in my books."

"Although.." The albino's grin faltered for a moment, as he looked over the sketch once more. "You did get my jaw a bit wrong." Prussia rubbed said jaw unconsciously.

"That's 'cause you were talking too much, ve~!"

Hungary openly laughed at the witty comment, elbowing Prussia in the ribs smugly. He grumbled at the abuse, but anyone could see he wasn't taking it to heart. Prussia never did.

She then scooped up the child nation into her arms with ease, and the three of them made their way back to the front of the house.

"But really, Italy, you don't think your drawing is good?" Hungary glanced down at him, frowning slightly.

Italy shrugged embarrassedly, staring down at the gravel underfoot. He fiddled with the green fabric of his dress.

Prussia reached over Hungary's shoulder to ruffle the little Italian's hair through the head covering, still grinning in what he thought was an encouraging manner. Really, it was just terrifying. Hungary gave him a warning look. He chuckled a bit, retracting his arm sheepishly.

"You'd better go, before Austria sees you," She snorted at him. "God knows you're more trouble than you're worth!" Prussia laughed again with his rough voice, but he promised HUngary he'd leave as soon as they got to the front gate.

"But really, kid, I haven't met many people that can draw as good. But still, even _your_ drawing cannot compare to mein awesomeness!"

Hungary rolled her eyes again, then raised Italy up so his eyes were on the same level as hers.

"If you keep drawing like that, maybe he'll allow you some more paper. I'll show him this one, see what he thinks." She smiled at him again.

Italy immediately perked up at the statement. If he could get paper, why not a canvas? A charcoal pencil, why not paint?

"Say, Ms. Hungary…" Italy hesitated. But before he could voice his suggestion, Hungary seemed to read his thoughts perfectly.

"Canvas and paint, hm? I'll ask Austria, but we'll see if the old grouch'll allow it." She winked conspiratorially at Italy, and he breathed a small sigh of relief.

Perhaps the young Italy really could pursue his aspirations to be an artist! Even if he had to work at Holy Rome's... For Austria…

But that was what revolutions were for, right?


	2. Chapter 2: Cleaning Lessons

**Chapter 2: Cleaning Lessons**

 **short chapter, I know, deal with it. Also I'm keeping the Spamano platonic in the fic cuz I don't want a lawsuit for pedophilia lmao**

 **enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, it belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz and all other publishers.**

* * *

Romano had scoffed as soon as he had seen the broom in Spain's hands. The much older empire had spent the last half hour digging through the storage room at the back of his house, for what the stubborn nation hadn't known. It was making a racket though, so of course he would shout at Spain about it later. Spain didn't mind.

Romano side-eyed the piece of wood critically. To be frank, he had never touched one of the alien pieces of machinery in his life. But Spain didn't need to know that.

"What the heck do you want me to do with that?" Romano asked, mouth full of the half-eaten tomato in his hand. His face was scrunched up characteristically.

"I want you to clean, of course! What do you normally do with a broom?" Spain laughed, as if he thought Romano's grumpiness to be just a little joke. He held it out in front of his torso perfectly, like he was used to this sort of thing. But the broom looked well worn anyway, and it _was_ probably the Spanish bastard who had to do the cleaning around the house before South Italy arrived.

Romano found himself scrutinizing the position unconsciously. Where Spain placed his hands, how his back was perfectly straight. Upon catching himself he quickly looked away, face flushed with embarrassment that he hoped the oblivious Spaniard would not catch.

Romano decided to ignore Spain's statement to save his pride, and he finished the juicy tomato instead. Upon finishing, he glanced back up at Spain in disdain.

"I wouldn't do anything with it." Romano deadpanned. He then got up from the couch in order to get another tomato. The green-eyed nation sighed in exasperation and called out to his back.

"Oh, come on, _chico_! You know how to sweep right? You're kinda useless to me any other way.." Spain whined at him.

Romano exhaled sharply, fighting back the urge to go back up to the bastard and punch his head in. His tiny hands started to ball into fists, which would have been hilariously adorable if they weren't capable of mutating your face beyond recognition.

"Fine!" He spat, stalking back to the taller country, whose face had broken into another one of his stupid wide grins. Complete with the pearly teeth too. Ugh. The smooth fabric of Romano's pink dress rippled as he ripped the broom from the other's hands, still scowling in indignation.

Spain chuckled quietly at the sight, much to the smaller's growing anger.

"You owe me one for this, _idiota_!" Romano hissed over his shoulder at the Spaniard, who was by now trying not to burst into hysterical laughter.

Romano couldn't figure out how to hold the stupid broom. Each angle he attempted to hold it, it was either too long or too uncomfortable to hold. Romano hissed a word that no child who looked his age should know under his breath, before throwing down the useless stick onto the cobblestone that paved the path outside of Spain's house. Romano had thought the yard might be a good place to start. He was very disappointed, if not by the sheer number of fallen leaves, then by the thick dust that was swirling around in the strong breeze.

The broom made a large clatter. The not-so-little child then planted himself on his butt beside it, hands crossed and legs folded underneath him. He cursed everything under his breath, from the broom to the trees to Spain's sorry ass(or at least will-be.). He didn't want to go back inside, stupid Spaniard was more intuitive than he looked. Romano at least had a scrap of pride inside him, unlike that guy.

Romano felt himself falling utterly helpless, and he hated it. Oh great, now there was a lump in his throat. Pretty soon he was sure some water in his eyes would make itself known as well, wouldn't it? Stupid mortal human kid body.

Just then, he heard the heavy footfalls of Spain's leather boots against the grey stone behind him. Romano whirled around to face him, hastily wiping his tears on his dress sleeve. He kept his eyes on the ground, refusing to meet the other's gaze in fear it would give away all his emotions.

He could see Spain bending down to his eye level. Oh, how he hated being short.

The taller nation tilted Romano's head slightly upwards, so that emerald eyes could stare into hazel. They were crinkled at the edges, following the strange curved line that was Spain's mouth. The expression was so familiar and comforting on the empire, it gave him the sense of humanity that most nations were unable to attain because they were..well..inhuman. Again, Romano looked away hastily.

He didn't believe in all the 'window-to-the-soul' nonsense, but he didn't want the taller country to go around reading his mind anytime soon either.

"What's wrong, chico? Something bothering you?" Spain's voice and expression had softened, and his arm had returned to rest on his knee.

"N-none of your business, bastard!" Romano scowled, though he knew it was unconvincing compared to his regular award-winning murderour expressions.

Spain's eyes followed down to Romano's arms, which had hurriedly picked up the broom.

He chuckled softly again, and brought the broom in front of the Italian. "Here," he offered quietly.

Spain repositioned the broom, fixing Romano's hands and making sure his back was straight. "See? There! Now that isn't so hard, right?" Spain exclaimed loudly, pleased with his handiwork. Romano hissed back at him, reverting to his old self.

"No, it isn't, not when you're the one that's not cleaning!"vHe huffed to prove his point, but underneath his mask Romano was deeply grateful for Spain's help. He knew that the Spaniard wouldn't judge him for what he did or didn't know, despite being a bastard _and_ an idiot.

Spain seemed to sense this, as he clapped Romano on the back as a sign of support. Said country rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"Now, is there anything else you want me to teach you, _muchacho_?" Spain asked good-naturedly, straightening up and looking around the courtyard.

Romano sighed, glancing down at his feet before staring at Spain's polished boots in reluctance.

"I… I…. I need you to teach me how to dust.. And clean windows… And do anything that involves work.." Romano forced the words out of his mouth and swallowed, hoping to relieve his parched throat.

Much to his indignance, Spain burst out into loud guffaws, clutching his stomach and wheezing for air.

Romano, embarrassed beyond belief, turned the same shade of red as the tomatoes he loved and kicked hard at Spain's shin(ouch) before running back to the house screaming "Vaffanculo!" Over his shoulder.

* * *

 **chico & muchacho = spanish for boy**

 **idiota = pretty self explanatory, Italian for idiot**

 **Vaffanculo! = Italian for Fuck You!**


	3. Chapter 3: Artist in the Making(Part ll)

**So, this chapter is going to be a little confusing due to the weird use of pronouns. Since the chapter's mainly going to be from Austria's POV, he will refer to Italy as a girl(ignorant little bean he is). However, later on the POV will revert back to Ita and he'll refer to himself as a boy.**

 **Clarified? Good! Now y'all can enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, it belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz and all other respective publishers.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Artist in the Making(a continuation)**

Austria frowned at Italy as she skipped gaily down the hall, humming an upbeat tune and clutching several crumpled pieces of paper to the front of her apron. It had become a usual sight for the household since Austria had permitted Italy drawing in her spare time. Not like he had been given much of a choice, it was _very_ different to have willingly agreed to something and to have been threatened with a frying pan across his face.

He presumed that Italy was done with her morning chores, because she routinely made her way to the back of the house to watch(or sketch) Prussia and Hungary like usual.

Austria exhaled through his nose and shook his head. It was endearing to see the young country sketching happily on a bench by her lonesome, but Austria still had his doubts about allowing such lacking rules to govern the household. Since Holy Rome was still too little to enforce any rules of his own, the duty fell onto Austria shoulders.

It was already bad enough that he had to allow Hungary and Prussia's sparring together, and Italy spent more time than Austria would have liked in the backyard with them. It was, he thought, just a matter of time until the impressionable child was influenced by Prussia's antics. Who knew? He might even attempt to vandalize _more_ than just a painting! Austria shuddered at the thought.

In reality, Austria hadn't seen any of Italy's drawings, other than the one that Hungary had shoved in his face. He had to admit, the child was pretty talented. But that still didn't change the fact that Italy could now use drawing as an excuse to skip her chores! Hungary obviously wouldn't mind, but Austria would have something to say about it.

Alas, the obedient redhead still hadn't committed any of the theoretical crimes(yet!), so Austria was forced to stash away his punishments for later.

Austria watched as Italy passed by the window opposite where he was standing, then was obscured by the wall. She would be back inside by sundown if she was drawing, maybe earlier otherwise. He turned away from the window and walked down the hallway.

The music room sat waiting for him just as it always did, and Austria smiled faintly as the familiarity of the room enveloped him when he pushed open the wooden door.

The grand piano, Austria's pride and joy, took up the space in the middle of the room and grabbed your attention as soon as you entered. The polished veneer glinted in the early afternoon sun, frequently dusted and cleaned by Austria himself. He took his place on the seat, and positioned his fingers over the keys of the piano.

Closing his eyes, he let his feelings run through his hands and into his fingers, and translated that into the notes that rang out and reverberated throughout the large, empty space. The tune was quick, and it had his nimble fingers flying over the piano keys in a blur. The hours passed, but Austria didn't notice. He was lost in a world of his own, one filled with flitting harmonies and flowing symphonies.

Austria only stopped when he realized he couldn't see a thing anymore. The sun had almost set and the room was bathed in a just a few golden rays shining in through the one window that took up most of the space on the wall. After the last note faded out, everything was silent. With every minute that passed, the room grew darker and darker until Austria could barely see the keys in front of him.

He sighed again, and got up to leave the room once it was almost pitch black.

As he neared the door, a faint breathing could be heard. The musician stopped suddenly, and listened. The breaths were long and deep, indicating that the person was asleep.

Austria furrowed his brow. The breathing seemed like it was coming from behind the door. But hadn't he shut it after he came in?

Indeed, the door was open a crack, just enough for someone to peek in while he was playing.

He chuckled quietly, and his frown was replaced with a small smile. He knew exactly who had been spying on him. Austria gently pushed the door open, and sure enough, little Italy was fast asleep with her head resting against the doorframe. Austria would have continued to smile if he hadn't noticed the sheet of parchment loosely held in Italy's right hand. The other was open, and a charcoal pencil lay a few centimeters away.

 _His_ charcoal pencil, Austria noticed, with a frown. He had wondered where that had gone.

Without warning, he snatched the piece of paper from Italy's hand. That along with his loud statement of, "What are you doing, Italy?" woke the slumbering nation up so suddenly she was sent sprawling against the wall behind her.

His angry expression and tone of voice so startled Italy that she was immediately put to tears. Austria had no doubt she had probably felt terrified and confused at the situation, just like any other child her age.

At the time, however, Austria didn't notice and was only focused on the drawing in his hand. He still had his eyes on Italy, who was trembling under his glare.

"Prussia put you up to this, didn't he? What did he tell you to do? Did he.."

Austria's eyes widened when they finally landed on the drawing and took it in properly. His voice faltered, his next words dying on his lips. The drawing was him, but it wasn't drawn in an unflattering way at all, unlike his earlier presumptions. He was seated at the piano, and Italy had translated his deep concentration perfectly onto the paper. His eyes were closed. The dying sunlight illuminated half of the whole figure, while the other was bathed in darkness. All of this was done simply with one of Austria's charcoal pencils.

It was so… _realistic_. It looked like he was looking at a painting done by a professional, not a drawing crafted by the small, delicate hands of Northern Italy!

The silence was filled only by Italy's small hiccups, those of which she was obviously trying to suppress.

"You… You did this?" Austria forced himself to say, still staring at the picture uncomprehendingly.

Italy hurriedly wiped her tears on the sleeve of her dress as soon as she was addressed.

"I-I'm s-so-sorry Mister A-Austria..!" She sniffled. Austria noticed as she hid her shaking hands under the white fabric of her apron.

"I j-just he-heard you playing and I th-thought you would l-like it if-f I drew y-you.."

…What?

She did it because she wanted _him_ to have it?

"A-and I pro-romise I'll never dr-draw you a-again if it makes y-you mad.. I w-was going t-to gi-give it to y-you, but I can ju-just th-throw it into the f-fireplace if you w-want…!"

At the last sentence, Italy looked downcast. She ducked her head down so she was looking to the floor, but not before Austria saw her blink back a few more tears.

Austria's whole demeanor changed immediately as he heard the young country speak. His voice and expression softened, becoming gentler, as he looked back and forth between the drawing and the shaking child.

"You did this… for me?" He asked, voice a lot quieter than a few moments before.

Italy nodded mutely, wringing her hands nervously under her apron.

Austria fell quiet for a few seconds. He contemplated the detail in his clothes and head, and wondered how long Italy must have sat outside that door.

"Italy," he questioned abruptly. "How long did it take you to finish this?"

Italy was caught off-guard by the question. "Wh-what?"

"How long have you been sitting here?"

Italy thought about it, face scrunched up in concentration. "I.. I think…I w-walked past at around two… But I don't really know when I f-finished. I just k-know you were still playing, and I must have f-fallen asleep."

Austria nodded slowly. No wonder she had been so devastated when she herself had suggested scrapping the whole thing. And the fact that she would _still_ have given it to him, even after he had established she was just his underling? After he'd taken her away from her family, and made her work as his servant?

"You don't mind if I… take it, do you?"

Italy looked up at him in surprise, dried tears tracks still prominent on her cheeks. "Yo-you want it?" She asked, voice laced with wonder.

Austria shrugged, suddenly embarrassed by how surprised she was at his enquiry. Had he _really_ looked like he hated it that much? "W-well, it is a very talented piece of artwork, and you were going to give it to me, were you not….?" Austria trailed off, unconsciously tightening his grip on the thin sheet.

Italy ducked her head down again, although this time there was a small smile present on her face, and not the tears he had seen previously.

Austria huffed to clear away some of his embarrassment, before standing up from where he was crouched in front of the young country. Italy followed his example, knees shaking as she regained her balance after sitting for so long.

Even the hallway was darkening now, the lanterns having not been lit. Austria started down the corridor, Italy running to catch up with him.

Austria cleared his throat gruffly, eyes darting to look anywhere but at Italy, before saying, "You'd better get to the kitchen quickly and get a candle. So you can, you know."

Italy nodded vigorously, still struggling to match the taller adult's long strides. Austria watched her out of the corner of his eye. He inhaled deeply, an internal battle raging inside his mind. After what felt like an eternity of consideration, he finally put out his hand, palm facing outward behind him.

Italy glanced at him, another look of surprise gracing her delicate features. Austria ignored this, however, and kept gazing forward nonchalantly as if he wasn't dismissing his position as Italy's superior and inviting her to be more comfortable around him(which should _not_ happen!).

She finally got the hint, and placed her small hand firmly in his larger one. Swiftly, Austria swept her up into his arms so he was carrying her, eliciting a small squeak of protest from the younger country.

Figuring the suspicious position begged an explanation, Austria hastily provided one. He still avoiding Italy's gaze. "Just so you know, I'm only carrying you because you're lagging too far behind. Also I don't want you getting hit in the face by a table in the dark. So don't get comfortable, alright?"

 **. . .**

Needless to say, Hungary was _very_ confused when she turned around to see the two of them entering the kitchen. Austria, upon realizing she was present, turned five various shades of red consecutively, set Italy firmly down, and walked briskly out of the room.

* * *

Italy had to jump in order to reach the brass handle of the door to Mr. Austria's office. It was that time of week again – he was required to dust and clean the room, just as Austria had ordered.

Upon his fifth jump he was finally able to grab the handle, and he pushed inwards. As usual, the whole office was pristine and spotless, except for Austria's desk. Scattered on top were thick piles of paperwork all varying in height, and even some papers on the floor. Since Italy was quite scared of messing up Mr. Austria's things, he always just moved the papers to one side of the large desk and organized the rest of the things neatly.

It was a struggle for Italy's small, weak body to budge the papers even a bit. He eventually managed it though, but only after standing on the mahogany desk and pushing with all his might.

He was panting from the exertion by the end of it. He turned and crouched by the edge of the desk, preparing to jump off, when one of his flailing arms knocked down one of the picture frames Austria kept on his desk.

Panicking, Italy rushed down to the floor to right the frame. Fortunately the glass was not broken, neither the wooden frame. Italy picked it up carefully.

Huh. That was weird. He had never seen that particular one around before. Maybe it was a new frame that Mr. Austria had recently gotten. But what would he need it for? He turned the frame around cautiously.

Italy immediately recognized the drawing settled comfortable behind the glass. The familiar pencil lines weaved cleverly together to form Austria's figure, seated at the piano and drowning in another one of his flowing pieces.

But he was surprised as well. Mr. Austria had actually kept it…. And not only that, on his desk as well! There were few things that the old killjoy found precious enough to _bother_ framing and placing where he would always see it.

There was a faint ghost of a smile on Italy's lips when he replaced the frame to its original position. The door shut tightly behind him, accompanied by a tight click.

Italy was so internally happy he didn't notice that he hadn't dusted the bookshelves.

 **Fin.**

* * *

 **So there you go! Some Austria-Italy bonding, because I don't think that their relationship would just be a hateful servant-master one. Italy is still too young to understand the concept of hate, anyway. Maybe Romano? I dunno, he's still a tsundere lmao.**

 **Please R & R! If you want to request, PM me!**


	4. Chapter 4: Nightmares, Chico?

**Hey y'all! Sorry for not updating, been caught up with moving house. I've noticed that you guys prefer the Romano oneshots, so here you are i guess! STRICTLY PLATONIC GUYS. At least, until little Roma grows up a little *wink wonk***

 **God, I really love nightmares, don't I?**

 **Anyway, requests are open, DM me, and enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia:Axis Powers, it belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz and all other publishers.**

* * *

Chapter 4: Nightmares, Chico?

Romano woke up in a cold sweat, dark brown locks matted against his drenched forehead. Sweat ran off his small frame in rivulets, causing his nightclothes to stick to his body. The coarse fabric rubbed uncomfortably against his skin as he moved to peer underneath the blanket for that one stupidly embarrassing wet spot he was almost sure would exist there.

The young colony blinked in surprise. The sheets were clean. Well, that was a... _Pleasant_ surprise.

He released a breath he didn't know he had been holding and leaned back on the headrest. He studied the ceiling blankly, not at all feeling like going back to bed.

" _Great_." Romano muttered sourly. "Keep this up, and I'll have eyebags as big as Sicily." He paused as a thought crossed his mind, and snickered.

 _Pft. I'll look just like that jerk-bastard_ idiota _! Ugly as shit._ He shuddered involuntarily. He'd do _anything_ to distance himself from that fool and his omnipresent grin.

With some difficulty, the gangly nation spirit managed to untangle himself from the sheets and drop off from the edge of his bed. He peeked cautiously out of his doorway to ensure there was no one in the corridor. He hardly needed to, though, there was no chance anyone would be up at such an ungodly hour of the morning.

He padded down the hallway quietly, bare feet making no noise on the wooden floor. He didn't bother looking into the other doorways, having already memorized the way to his destination by heart.

It was deathly quiet in that jerk Spain's room, the only discernible sound being the steady, soft snores of said Spaniard.

For a second, Romano contemplated jumping onto the bed and stealing all the blanket-space. Surely the Italian wouldn't have any troubly sleeping then, would he?

As quick as that thought flitted by, it was shoved aggressively to the back of Romano's mind. _No way_ was he sleeping in the same bed as that sorry excuse for a conquistador! That dumb crapwad would only get more material to blackmail and tease him with, and Romano would probably never see the end of it.

" _Silly little Romano, can't even fall asleep without wetting the bed! Are you still such a baby that you need an adult sleeping beside you? Tsk! After so long, I'd have expected you to have grown up a bit."_

Romano scoffed. He wasn't going to allow himself to be goaded like that! He pushed the tiny crack in Spain's door wider out of spite. He winced and thought twice about it when a piercing creak cut through the silence like one of Spain's sabers.

The Italian hurried past the door, grimacing.

 _What do people_ do _when they can't sleep?_ The question bobbed to the surface of Romano's mind like a hat adrift on the ocean.

 _'Drink milk!' 'Have an existential crisis!' '_ Cry _yourself to sleep!' 'Jump off a roof!' 'Just take a walk outside, dumbass.'_

Out of all the unnervingly-cheerfully voiced suggestions, the walk seemed like the most rational one.

Romano made a break for the backdoor, shivering when the cool night air hit his skin. The courtyard looked eerily peaceful at night, the trees' branches swaying gently, undisturbed.

The young colony slowly made his way around the labyrinth of a garden to his favorite spot; a bench underneath the largest oak tree in the entire garden. The plant spread its branches over his head invitingly, the leaves a blanket covering him and his thoughts.

Romano settled onto the bench with a quiet, almost inaudible sigh.

It was on nights like these that Romano wished his brother was here beside him. Yes, he was loud, and yes, he was obnoxious, and yes, he could ramble annoyingly for hours on end, but he was Romano's little brother. Northern Italy was actually quite perceptive for first impressions. He knew when he had to be the listener and not the talker. There was just something familiar about him that comforted Romano in a way that Spain never could. Nothing could ever sever the bond and companionship the two brothers shared.

The chirping of the crickets and whistling of the nighttime wind was just about to lull Romano's eyes closed when he felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder, along with a concerned "You okay, chico?" in that familiar accented voice Romano knew too well.

The Italian groaned in annoyance, eyes snapping open to glare at the aforementioned Spaniard. "Great, you jerk! Just when I was finally going to sleep, you had to come along and ruin my siesta!" He hissed.

Spain's hand flinched back, eyes widened in surprise. He swallowed thickly, wounded gaze flicking away from Romano to the floor for a few seconds. If he wasn't so stubborn, Romano might have admitted to that tiny twinge of guilt he felt at causing the older nation's apprehension.

Apparently deciding that annoying Romano wasn't the way to go(said Italian thoroughly approved of that statement), Spain switched tactics.

"Romano... What are you doing out here at this time? Alone, as well!" His tone had reverted back to concerned as he chided the child. "You really worried me, kiddo. Especially when I couldn't find you in your room!"

The shorter nation spirit huffed annoyedly and folded his arms across his chest. "I couldn't sleep, jerk. Another one of those stupid dreams that are too retarded to be any fun."

The silence that followed was tangible. Romano was sure he could have sliced through it using another one of the Spaniard's weapons of mass colonization.

"Niño," Spain started, after a long pause consisting of what the Italian guessed was just the man staring at him. "You had a nightmare? Why didn't you tell me?"

Some of Spain's vast reservoirs of confusion and worry had started to leak into his speech as he sat down on the bench and scooted closer to Romano. Said colony shifted uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny.

Spain's big, hurt green eyes stared at him and Romano was finding it harder to suppress that spike of guilt as it appeared again, stronger than ever. He resolutely remained staring forward at the nature in front of him. He eventually caved in though, never being one to survive for long under pressure.

"I...didn't want to wake you up." The colony admitted quietly. "You...seemed like you were enjoying your sleep."

Spain reeled back, mouth agape in a shocked "O". If Romano hadn't been so goddamn tired he might've laughed out loud.

But to the colony's lasting horror and surprise, the older nation swiftly pulled him in for an abrupt hug. Romano flailed and struggled in the other's vice grip, gasping, a look of utter mortification apparent on his face. "G-get off me, bastard!" He spluttered, attempting in vain to pry the strong arms off him.

Spain chuckled lightly into Romano's mess of hair, before finally giving him some time to breathe. The young nation spirit glared at him, but anyone could see it was quite halfhearted and forced. Spain made a show of roughing up Romano's hair further, and pulled him close, laughing all the while. His laughter eventually petered out, and it was replaced by rare fondness that was seldom seen on the old nation, even when the two were alone together.

"Ey, chico? Don't be afraid to wake me up when you need to, 'kay? I promise I won't get mad." Romano rolled his eyes at the pure sap on display. "You had me really worried there, kiddo."

"Yeah, yeah," Romano waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, I'm not some kid who can't take care of his own ass."

The southern colony could see Spain observing him out of the corner of his eye. It was only when he shivered after a particularly cold blast of wind that Spain made any move to go back to the house. He took Romano's hand gently, tugging it.

Romano scoffed indignantly. "I _told_ you I'm not a kid!"

"Yeah, but you sure act like one when you're cranky!" Spain grinned. "Vamos, muchacho, let's get you to bed. I can sleep beside you, if you want. How does that sound?"

"Stupid, that's how." Romano grumbled, though he didn't really mean it.

Even though the Italian complained, he made no move to extract his hand from Spain's grasp, though it surely would have been an easy task. If the Spaniard noticed it(he probably did, let's be real here), he didn't say anything about it.

And if Romano was being honest? The sleep he had that night, with Spain's annoying-but-warm-and-comforting presence beside him, might've been the best he's had that night.

* * *

 **Mini Dictionary: Spanish-English**

 **Chico, niño, muchacho - kid, kiddo, boy, lad**

 **Idiota - Spanish and Italian for idiot**

 **Vamos, muchacho - Come on, kid**

 **Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this ^^. Hope you enjoyed reading!**

 **-Ziggles, signing out!-**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Awesomeness Does Have a Source, You Know**

 **A/N: Sorry I haven't been updating anything lately... I'm a lazy procrastinating piece of crap and school's been an ass. So as an apology, here's an extra long chappie! (long A/N too... oof)**

 **Hetalian history lesson for y'all because I want to:**

 **Just for background info, and maybe a little history lesson, I feel like this chapter is set somewhere around the 14th century, in the years of the Teutonic Knights, which we know Prussia personified for a time.**

 **The Knights had invaded the Prussian region in the 13th century and fought ferociously against the pagan Baltic Old Prussians, winning in what would later be called the Prussian Crusade. The Prussian region then became a territory of the Knights, which I think is why the other kingdoms call him Prussia when he is still technically a personification of the Order. This makes sense to me as the Holy Roman Empire, who had many "connections" (coughtheywerebrotherscough) with the Teutonic Order, had been established before the later German State of Brandenburg-Prussia of the 15th century onwards in the German Empire. The Kingdom of Prussia was established even later, in 1701. I assume that the Prussia that personified the Teutonic Knights kind of just "became" the personification of the Prussian state, and later kingdom. The Teutonic Order still continued to exist after that until present day, but it slowly turned into more of a solely religious charitable organization rather than a militant force.**

 **I am kind of unsure on how Prussia transferred from the Knights to personify the Prussian State as it isn't really clear in the anime and I don't really read the manga much, especially if the Teutonic Order continued to exist and didn't disappear, so maybe one of y'all can let me know your interpretation in the comments.**

 **As always, constructive criticism is always welcome, requests are open(DM me), read, review, and enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, it belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz, Funimation, and al other publishers.**

* * *

Italy whizzed by in a blur that day, eager to get all of his morning chores over with. Hungary had announced the evening before that she had a very special someone coming over to visit. Italy, intrigued as always, had begged for clues of who it might be. Hungary, with that cheeky ever-present grin on her face, had simply insisted that he wait and see, before steering him out of the kitchen door.

Austria, too, had fallen victim to his relentless inquiries. Italy had been quick to shut up though, after an incredulous snort had escaped Mr. Austria's lips at the mention of this 'new' visitor.

"New, yes, of course!" He had chuckled drily to himself. Austria brushed Italy's small hand off his coat, before striding off to doubtlessly compose another piano piece leaving the child just as confused and befuddled as ever.

Even the Holy Roman Empire had not been able to avoid his questions, unfortunately for him. The vast empire had looked stricken at the approach of the bubbly Italian, probably much too used to sitting undisturbed by his lonesome.

"Holy Rooome!" Italy called, waving to him frantically from across the front yard. Said person widened his eyes at the sound of Italy's voice, scooting backwards in order to find any way of putting as much distance as he could between them. In vain, of course, as no one could run as fast as Italy when he wanted to.

Unwillingly, the grouchy boy had been tackled into an embrace, squirming and cursing underneath Italy's green dress.

"Argh, what is it this time, dummkopf?" Holy Rome griped, gritting his teeth, as he continued to struggle out of Italy's surprisingly iron grip. Italy looked up at him, smiling softly, those amber eyes twinkling like the fresh dewdrops on a sunflower's petal-

"I wanted to ask you a question, silly!"

Italy let go of Holy Rome's black-clad arms, sitting up and giving him space so that he could have time to breathe and compose himself. HRE coughed uncomfortably, tugging at his collar.

Oblivious to the other's discomfort, the Italian started to ramble. "Okay so, Hungary told me something while she was secretly making pasta for me(because she's so great, but you probably knew that) and she said that someone special was coming over later today but she didn't really describe him much at all you know but she said that he had white hair-"

Holy Rome's uncomfortable countenance snapped up at the mention of the frosty hair. He frowned at Italy, who did not at all seem to mind his sudden interruption and was watching him eagerly.

"White hair? That could only mean-"

"-tHE AWESOME PRUSSIA!" Someone howled as loud as human(or inhuman)ly possible, collapsing into a fit of peculiar guffaws that sounded like a cross between a dying donkey and a wheezing goat. Or maybe both, combined with the unholy addition of a canary's _relentless_ screeching. Italy whipped his head around to stare, wide-eyed, at the visitor who stood behind the iron gate that blocked the entrance to the Holy Roman Empire's mansion.

His voice was rough and unpleasant to listen to, but that would probably be because the owner of the voice shouted too much.

 _It would sound nicer, and much more melodiou_ s, Italy thought, _if the strange man could learn to speak at a normal level._

Though, all three of the mansion's other residents would probably agree that it was probably quite impossible for the pale man. Or actually, kingdom.

Now that he thought about it; that name sounded quite familiar. He could remember seeing the word ' _Prussia_ ' on some of the books about empires in Austria's library, though it always puzzled him why the grouchy man would bother to keep books concerning a nation which he seemed to hate so much.

The strange man donned a long, white tunic reaching down to his knees that bore a black cross on the chest with the horizontal line wrapped around his torso, while the vertical line continued down to his feet, as well as sturdy leather boots. Combined with his blue cape and sheathed saber that hung from his belt, the outfit gave the impression of a brash general ready to lead his troops into war. (Italy would later learn, years later, that that cape's particular colour was known as _Prussian Blue_. _Fitting_ , he had thought.)

Italy's anxiety was shared by the young empire beside him. If nothing else, he seemed more apprehensive of this nation's visit than Italy was.

Dread marred the Holy Roman Empire's usually-indifferent features, and he clutched his hat to his head as if even the white-haired empire's shouting was powerful enough to send it flying off his head, which it probably was.

"Holy Rome," Italy whispered anxiously. "Who is this?"

"This," He replied glumly, "is that one kingdom Hungary and Austria've been warning you about."

Italy absentmindedly wondered how the pale man was surviving getting his ear screamed at by the demonic canary.

"Oi! Bruder!" Prussia called out. "Help me get this gate open, will ya?"

The Holy Roman Empire heaved a long and deep sigh, closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. It was during moments like these that Italy truly pitied him and his gigantic empire responsibilities.

" _Bruder_." HRE ground out through tight lips. He said the next sentence slowly, careful to enunciate every syllable correctly. "The gate _isn't locked._ "

"Oh." Prussia blinked intelligently. He shoved the metal gate open, and grinned at the sound of the bang it made as it collided with the fence.

Italy winced at the loud impact, for once grateful that he at least had his mop of unruly hair to block out some of the noise.

Holy Rome stood up, snarling, "Watch what you're doing! You're going to break that thing if you're not careful!"

Prussia chuckled, no doubt taking pleasure in his younger brother's annoyance. He strode inside, heavy boots crunching on the gravel path, before coming to stop before the scowling blonde. "What, are you _that_ upset to see your awesome big bro? Come on, I don't even visit you that often!" He said, grinning wolfishly.

Italy squeaked, darting around to hide behind Holy Rome's frame. It was a surprise to the dress-clad boy when the caped empire did nothing to shake him off. He whimpered fearfully, clutching at the fabric. He had no wish to get screamed at by the demonic canary, thank you very much!

Prussia raised an eyebrow at the sight presenting itself to him on a silver platter. Since when did HRE ever associate with other children? _Mortal_ children? And a girl at that!

He studied the meek child behind the little blonde grouch. Copper hair, olive skin…. _Oh!_ This must be little Northern Italy, the one that Hungary had been going on about since forever now. That explains the strange contact that he somehow had with Holy Rome. Not a girl, after all, and Prussia felt a vague disappointment he could not quite place.

But… Hm, he seemed a little more underwhelming than Prussia had originally thought him out to be. Maybe that was a result of meeting the little nation's feisty older brother first. Many people would probably agree that to be cursed at in three different languages by a boy who looked eight years old was an… _Interesting_ experience.

"Stop looking so menacing, will you? It isn't doing much for your first impression." HRE scolded.

Prussia snorted, though both of the younger nations did have to crane their necks just to look up at him. Holy Rome's exasperation, wherever his older brother was concerned, was never unfounded. "Who's first impression?" Prussia raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "If I can recall, I've met everyone living in this here mansion…" He dragged out the last syllable as he slowly crouched down to Italy's level, his grin growing proportionally with every second he held it. The copper-haired boy was still huddled behind the other child, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.

"-except you!" Prussia crowed, effectively startling the easily-startled boy. Prussia's grin could be described as terrifyingly endearing, an attempt by the albino to coax the shy child into a conversation; an endeavor that was, without a doubt, failing terribly.

Invariably, Italy was instead quite intimidated. He stumbled backwards, eyes wide and arms flailing, ending up in a disoriented heap on the grass. He coughed, trying to spit out the stray pebbles that had made their way into his mouth.

"I-I-I, w-wha-" He stammered, the albino's shadow looming over him. A monster, he was sure, come to devour him for its afternoon snack!

"You're Italy, right?" Prussia bluntly interrupted his session of creative thinking, wonderfully obtuse as he always was.

"I-I, w-well, I, uh," Italy stammered. He sat up straight on the ground, making sure not to slouch any. Was this kingdom like Austria? Did he hate inefficiency and loud people too? (not very likely, judging from the earlier entrance.)

Italy cleared his throat, silently willing himself to speak without tripping over his words for once.

"I, uh… _si_." He finished lamely. He could practically hear Mr. Austria's scoff.

Up close like this, Italy could better observe the clothes worn by the strange man. Similar to his earlier inference, Prussia indeed seemed to be wearing uniform belonging to a general of some sort, or at least a soldier. He assumed that the red-eyed nation spirit did not care much for his appearance, made apparent by the abundance of dirt smudges and tears that were accumulated on the once-pristine uniform. An assortment of military awards and medals seemed to support his observation from where they decorated the the nation's chest. The peculiar cross that he wore tied to a thin rope around his neck particularly intrigued Italy. It was iron, or some other metal, painted black.

 _The Teutonic Knights_ , he thought spontaneously, the name resurfacing to the top of his mind. Italy vaguely recalled flipping through a few books on history and stumbling on an illustrated section detailing the Knights and their conquests. The _cross patée_ that hung around Prussia's pale neck had been the same as an illustration that had taken up about half of one page, the coat of arms of the Teutonic Order. Not of much interest to him at the time, but now he was slightly thankful that he had decided to rifle through some of Austria's dusty old books.

Prussia hummed absentmindedly, holding up one of Italy's arms. "'Bit small for a boot*," he muttered as he continued the impromptu inspection.

The young kingdom had become utterly lost. What was Prussia doing exactly? And why was he mumbling about how Italy looked "way too much like a girl?"

"Hmph!" Prussia exhaled, finally releasing Italy's shoe from his grasp. "I approve! Although he does seem a tad thin." He looked pointedly to the blonde who was staring at the scene, horrified.

"Wait, what- _Bruder_?" Holy Rome hissed, stalking over to where the albino had made himself comfortable on the dirt ground. "Approve? What do you mean?" He cried, bewilderment and mortification coloring his plea. "And don't touch her!" HRE swiftly swatted away another suspiciously pale hand that had been reaching for Italy's face.

"I _mean_ ," Prussia started, standing up to look down at the Holy Roman Empire with a grin on his face and a glint in his eye, "that I've started to become a little more serious about my familial duties. You know, being a good protective older brother and so forth. Don't want a growing boy like you getting in any trouble." He winked. "Don't you agree?"

"Protective? Familial duties? _Trouble_?" The poor blonde spluttered, gaze darting between Italy and Prussia, who was wiggling his eyebrows. What did he-

Oh.

Prussia started cackling upon catching sight of the blush spreading to the tips of Holy Rome's ears. His mouth gaped, opening and closing, much akin to a goldfish. Not a word would escape, also akin to a goldfish.

Italy panicked. What was making the blonde empire so red and mute, like one of Romano's tomatoes? Was it a spider bite? A snake bite? Had one started wrapping itself around his neck? Italy started panicking even further, almost about to lunge forward and drag the blonde into the mansion to get help.

But soon enough, with much gasping for air, and to Italy's relief, Holy Rome was able to catch his breath once again.

"I-no! _No_ , no no no, I-she-we're nothing like that! Us two…! We're not… anything! You've g-got it all wrong!" He laughed hysterically.

"Whatever you say, kleine Bruder." Prussia sing-songed, brushing past them to finally approach the entrance of the mansion, the canary still screeching dedicatedly from its perch on the albino's feathered hat.

"That idiot…" HRE groaned. "It isn't even time for him to arrive yet. He was supposed to be here for _dinner_."

Italy dared steal a glance at the back of the boisterous nation, whistling merrily as he ambled across the yard. He looked and acted almost nothing like his younger brother, whose cheeks were still rosy and frown still remained. Italy stared contemplatively after Prussia. "Yes, I suppose."

* * *

Prussia was odd, to say the least. He was loud and brash, but he could also be quiet and caring. Such a conflicting personality was apparent within him that Italy almost did not know what to make of it. At least his lack of intuition was consistent, so it wasn't complete agony to think about.

The albino regaled them with tales of adventure and conquest at dinnertime, gesturing wildly about him, rough voice rebounding against the high ceiling of the dining hall, while Austria scowled and Hungary smiled. Italy listened, enraptured, scenes of greatness("Awesomeness," Prussia would have corrected him.) flitting through his head, people and places he had yet to see danced around and around in his mind's eye, and his fingers twitched for a pencil.

As days passed, Italy noticed a large chunk of Prussia's time was spent with Hungary. There was a different side of her that Prussia brought out; she was more lively, more vibrant somehow, and her eyes shined brighter with a twinkle that spoke, nostalgic, of lighthearted youth long past. For the duration Prussia remained, she had abandoned her dresses in favor of clothing that allowed her to tumble in the grass, fabric that she did not care to see tattered and torn. It was not uncommon to find the two of them stumbling into the entrance hall just before dusk, twigs and leaves sewn into their clothing, dirt muddying their boots, exhausted smiles painting their tired faces. Cries of warfare, cloth turned ribbons by the agile sharp danger of a saber's edge. There were times when echoes of their laughter could be heard drifting from between the trunks of the forest, and Italy would peer into the thick foliage, wondering about the source of their sudden mirth.

And the other part, the making up for lost time that could never be replaced. Even as kingdoms, time was a fickle thing, scarce and fleeting. Italy would catch a glimpse of the two brothers sitting outside in the sunlight, conversing, one leaning backwards, while the other sat slightly straighter. Or maybe, the playful tussle of boys sitting idle for too long; deadly blades replaced by stinging branches.

The two seemed so close that the blonde's initial annoyance at Prussia had confused him.

"Say, Holy Rome," Italy said one day, the both of them eying a passing cloud from under an oak tree. "You _are_ happy about Prussia coming to visit, right?" He hesitated. "He's… He's your brother." The other boy glanced back at him, then away.

Holy Rome sighed, looking to his boots. "I am, though it probably doesn't show much." He shook his head. "It's just… He's so annoying sometimes. And he never gives me space when he visits."

"Well, I'm sure he means well." Italy reassured him, his voice still carrying a lighthearted, optimistic inflection, though it was not as strong as usual. "I'm pretty sure older brothers are supposed to be annoying. It's their job, probably." It made Holy Rome chuckle, a sight that left Italy's insides fluttering.

"…Yeah. I suppose you're right." The blonde hummed.

Italy was surprised at the longing he felt. No matter how much Holy Rome might feel it annoying, Italy found it endearing how Prussia tried to be a 'good' older brother. Not that Romano wasn't, but it was kind of hard to say someone was a good sibling if you hadn't seen them for a few decades. He wondered how well his _fratello_ was doing over at Spain's. Was he hating it, like he so often loved to project?

Did he miss Italy just as much as Italy missed him? Did he actually enjoy being away from him? Was Italy too annoying for him?

Italy tried to ignore those last few thoughts, but they buzzed in his ear like flies and he had to suppress a pang. He knew Romano was fine, that Spain was taking good care of him, but it didn't do much to dull the pain of their separation.

"Maybe…" Italy started, looking thoughtfully down at the grass between his feet. "He doesn't give you space because he wants to protect you. I don't think he gets to do that a lot while he's away."

The Holy Roman Empire raised an eyebrow, but his lips were still pulled into an small, almost unnoticeable smile. "Is being protective another big brotherly job then?" He joked, and Italy giggled again.

Their laughter eventually died down, and there was a quiet, peaceful lull that was filled by the summer cicadas and buzzing bees.

"Must be nice," Italy said suddenly."I wish my _fratello_ could visit me sometimes. We never really get to see each other much. It… seems fun, you know?" His voice trailed away to nothing as the wind snatched up his voice, leaving his throat dry and wordless.

The Holy Roman Empire looked at Italy. Eyes downcast, lips pursed, he was a world away from the bubbly, cheerful kingdom so often dancing through the halls, skirts bunched in one hand, broom in the other. It was surprising how insightful he could sometimes be, how he could always look at the world from a different, and sometimes even melancholic perspective.

Silently, he shuffled closer to Italy. They sat shoulder to shoulder, two contrasting colours, two cracked pillars in the face of loneliness and separation.

"Well," HRE said. "You'll always have me."

Ebony pupils swimming in amber met his sky blue irises. "A-and Austria and Hungary too, of course." Holy Rome bashfully amended, looking down once again to those black boots he found so interesting.

Italy smiled thankfully, his gentle grin regaining that familiar radiance it had previously lacked. If he'd wanted any sort of reassurance from the Holy Roman Empire, then that was the best that he was going to get.

It relieved him somewhat. That, even if he and his _fratello_ were miles apart, at least Holy Rome would always be there for him.

* * *

Ah, young love. Prussia chuckled to himself, the bush he had dived into earlier a surprisingly comfortable hiding spot. Maybe he could nap here later on. The both of them hadn't even noticed him here, which was probably because they were probably too lost in each other's eyes, hah! "We're not anything" his ass! It was rare to see Holy Rome so happy, even when Prussia had been around more. That kid really was doing him some good, serves him right.

He watched them both joke around for a little while longer, their eyes shining in subtle joy.

One would argue that spying on his little brother via the guise of a bush was not exactly a 'big brotherly duty', but he would beg to differ.

"It's my job to ensure that my little brother is always happy while I'm gone, don't you think?" Prussia murmured lowly to the little yellow canary that had perched on his finger, for once ceasing in its not-so-melodious chirping.

"Of course you understand, Gilbird." He sighed, looking up to the blue sky. The cloud that they had been watching, the only one in sight, was now only a mere wisp over a surrounding hill.

"It's so fun to be alone." Prussia whispered, closing his eyes.

 _ **Fin**_.

* * *

* As we all probably know, Italy is shaped like a boot. Lame joke, I know, but lame is my middle name! ( that rhymes, heheh)

* * *

 **Oopsie.. (^_−)~ That kinda deteriorated into angst near the end there, sorry lmao but y'all know i can't resist sometimes... ITALY IS A SMOL BEAN AND WE MUST PROTECC also oof sorry Prussia**

 **anyway, i started reading some more novels and in conclusion, I realized my writing style was complete shit so I worked on it a little lmao. Hope you enjoy reading the change and stuff. Also, if you're wondering why the flow of this chapter is negative great well then that's because i wrote it pre change and edited/added to it after and im too lazy to rewrite it lol :p**

 ** _E_**

 **P.S. Austria needs to get laid (with prussia lol)**

 **-Ziggles out!-**


	6. Chapter 6: Genuinity

**Chapter Six: Genuinity**

 **Shite chapter title is shite. Was supposed to be 'Oak Trees and Broken Knees' actually. I have nooo idea how this turned into fluffy angst Italy was supposed to break his leg and everyone would fawn over him lol, instead he ends up having an existential crisis. t?**

 **Anyway, it's a long one, as another sorry for not posting in so long. There are a couple of One Piece references in there somewhere lol, see if you can find them.**

* * *

"What a," - _huff_ \- "heavy," - _puff_ \- "watering can!" Italy gasped.

He had half-dragged, half-carried the metal container outside before he stopped under the shade of the birch tree by the corner of the mansion. This wasn't a normal chore for him, but Hungary was busy preparing lunch for some important government officials that were coming to see Mr. Austria. She had asked the young kingdom to to water her precious flower garden since she wasn't able to.

Italy wiped a hand across his brow, forehead already slick with sweat.

Oh, _why_ did the sun have to shine so bright every afternoon? The extra layers coated on his thin frame made the heat all the more unbearable. Arms trembling from where his white knuckles gripped the handle, Italy put all his weight into budging the can another inch. His shoes were digging into the dirt, and Italy looked at them in dismay. Soles chafing, splattered with dirt and dropped paint, Mr. Austria would definitely have to get him new ones. That probably wouldn't bring up the grumpy old empire's opinion of him anytime soon.

 _But the more flowers I water, the less it will weigh, right?_ Italy smiled a little proudly, though strained, silently congratulating himself on the logical thinking that Austria would have been delighted to hear he was doing. He would just have to bear the burden for a few more minutes.

The Italian had finished watering the fourth flowerbed – some tulips – when his task was interrupted.

"Hey, you! Aren't you the one Holy Rome hangs out with?" A raspy, slightly annoying( _that_ is an understatement.)voice floated down to him, faint and unclear as if from a great distance.

"E-eh?" Italy yelped. He clapped a hand over his mouth immediately after, petrified. How could he be so daft as to announce his presence so readily? He had conveniently forgotten that the earlier shrill scraping of waterproof metal on rocky ground had already been enough of an "I'm right here!" banner for anything with ears.

Italy slowly spun around, panicked, in order to find the source of the voice. Any sort of intruder would be dangerous for everyone in the mansion. It could be a burglar, come to take all the valuables in the mansion(and believe him, there were a lot). But then again, Holy Rome's abode was the grandest in the village, so incidents like this occurred fairly often. He was well versed with the drill – just duck through the front door and yell "An intruder!" as loud as possible, and Ms. Hungary would simply run outside, brandishing her trusted frying pan.

Most of the time, the mere sight of an incredibly unladylike young lady waving a cooking utensil and howling battle cries was enough to deter the robbers from even attempting to set foot in the house. Nevertheless, there were a few instances where the thieves, mostly mischievous young boys from the village, had been either slow or unfortunate enough to be knocked a few times over the head by a rabid Hungary. It was a surprise that Austria had even managed to restrain her spitting, hissing, non-child-friendly fury.

But…. Italy gulped. What if it wasn't a robber?

The important meeting that was going on… All the court officials that were present… What if the voice's owner was an _assassin_?

Italy made a noise halfway between a squeal and a whimper. He needed to tell Hungary right away! But first he needed to see which tree the assassin was hiding in so –

THWACK!

The young nation spirit shouted in surprise. His hand flew up to grip the back of his head, which wasn't particularly hurt, actually. Why hadn't the hidden baddie used anything stronger to hit him with? Even the older boys of the village threw rocks at him, more often than not tearing Hungary's donated dresses.

Skirts bunched in one hand, Italy bent down to pick up the small object that had struck him and turned it over in his palm. It was… an acorn. Peculiar.

"Hey! Smallfry!" The voice greeted.

What kind of assassin called their victim _smallfry_? The Italian wondered.

"I'm up here, kid."

Italy blinked. The voice came from behind him and… Above him?

The young kingdom's short stature meant that he had to crane his neck upwards to see the canopy of the hulking oak tree that the voice seemed to be originating from. A fleeting glimpse of red eyes and an unruly mop of snow-white hair, and Italy immediately recognized who he was talking to. His body lost some of its tension after he sighed in relief. It was just a false alarm.

"Oh. Prussia!" Italy smiled up at the pale man laying quite comfortably across one of the oak's many boughs. The albino grinned mischievously back, draped over the tree branch like a cat lazing on a windowsill.

Italy couldn't help but gaze up at him in admiration, awed of his sense of ease in such a dangerous-looking position. How was he keeping himself from falling off? He glanced at the branch. It was nowhere near wide enough to sustain Prussia's weight comfortably. And yet, he didn't seem at all uncomfortable.

Italy swallowed. He was so brave and daring… In fact, Prussia had probably scaled trees twice as high as this adolescent oak, which still had the painfully short child wondering at its size.

"What are you doing down there, eh?" Prussia called down, one side of his mouth pulled upwards in a curious smirk. "I've never seen you out of the house this early."

"O-Oh!" Italy distractedly glanced to the watering can and the flowers, as if they could help him out of his predicament. "Ms. Hungary's inside preparing for Mr. Austria's important meeting. She told me to water her flowers for her." He said truthfully.

To Italy's surprise, Prussia burst into cackles, his torso shaking with the force of his laughter. Italy froze, waiting for the albino's inevitable fall from the branch. He was perfectly prepared to pray for his quick resurrection, the cause of which being a humiliating death by broken neck. ("Only an idiot would be able to die that stupidly." Austria would have jeered.)

Italy honestly would have pitied him. Nobody enjoys being teased by Hungary for all eternity.

But, to Italy's growing wonder, Prussia remained perfectly balanced on his perch. The Italian wondered if Gilbird had anything to do with his birdlike knack for sitting in trees.

"Ah.." The older kingdom reached up to wipe the tears from his eyes. "Hungary owning a flower garden!" He burst into chuckles once more. "Who would've thought!" Italy thought that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to mention how she cooked, too.

After he had recovered from his outburst, Prussia's eyes slid over to the the watering can barely concealed by Italy's dress. "What, you're going to haul _that_ thing around all day?" He asked incredulously.

Italy swallowed, unsure of how to respond.

"What a _boring_ way to spend the day! Don't you want to do something fun instead?" At Italy's stricken expression, the german snorted.

"Fine then, if you want to be such a goody two-shoes." He scoffed. He shifted his position on the branch so he was hugging it, flat on his stomach, limbs dangling underneath him.

Italy's pulse quickened for a moment while the albino moved one of his hands to cover his mouth as he yawned.

Prussia wasn't holding onto anything.

Italy knew firsthand how easy it was to slip off a horse's back, having done so too many times on one of Hungary's mares. And, well, a tree branch was much thinner than a horse. It didn't have a saddle and stirrups, either.

If the stubborn albino somehow did manage to fall off, there was no chance that Italy would be able to break his fall. In fact, he would probably break one of his own ribs in the process.

"P-Prussia?" Italy called up, worry clearly showing on his youthful face. "Don't you think that you should be more careful up there?" He asked, hoping that the headstrong man would take the hint.

"Nonsense!" Prussia grinned. Apparently not, then. "I'm way too awesome to fall off, kid! And besides, I've been climbing trees for decades. If anyone's mastered it, it would be me!"

Italy still didn't feel convinced. If Prussia broke something he knew that Hungary would be really worried, though she would probably hide it behind scoldings and painful frying pans. Austria too, now that he thought about it, but he would probably die by asphyxiation before admitting it.

The conflict in Italy mind must have spilled out to show on his face, because Prussia's teasing expression quickly melted into one of reassurance. "Don't worry, kid. My awesomeness won't let anything happen to you. Or me. Besides," he yawned. "I don't really feel like getting shouted at by both Holy Rome _and_ Hungary today."

Prussia looked at Italy again. "So," he raised an eyebrow. "You wanna learn how to awesomely climb a tree or what?"

The young kingdom's hesitation only lingered for a second; Italy was determined to face his fears and become a brave warrior of the trees, just like the Awesome Prussia.

Even if these skirts were really restricting.

"Yeah!" Italy finally chirped, a fire blazing in his shining eyes.

"That's the spirit!" Prussia took a firm grip of the branch and swung toward Italy, letting go and executing a perfect front flip before landing right in front of the impressionable boy.

 _Whoa_ , Italy thought.

"Well, kid! Let's get started!" Prussia led the way to the base of the adolescent oak.

"You see? First, you gotta find a foothold, and then…" Italy soon tuned out the words as he peered up at the looming tree, the nearest branch being at least three times his height above him.

He was starting to regret that sudden burst of courage.

* * *

"Prussia!" Italy's shrill, panicked cry sliced through the tense atmosphere like a knife through butter.

"Heh-yeah?" The slight hint of nervousness in the older man's voice wasn't lost on Italy; in fact it served to increase his anxiety. Sprawled haphazardly on one of the lower tree branches, Italy tried his hardest not to glance toward the ground, which currently seemed a little _too_ far away.

"Just hold on tightly, kid! You'll be fine," the albino insisted from his seat beside the watering can. "Climbing a little higher won't hurt, don't you think?"

Actually, the Italian thought that _yes_ , it would hurt, especially if he fell from that high up! But at Prussia's expectant prompt, Italy found that he just couldn't refuse. He already said he would, right?

He'd just have to, y'know, get his foot onto the branch and edge closer to the trunk a bit. He despised the way the branch shook as he moved, solid though it was, and he at once hugged the trunk to his chest, cheek pressed against the splintering bark. Italy hoped to God he wouldn't get any wood imbedded in his skin, but he supposed that at this point it was already much too late to ask for any favors.

Glancing up, he found that he was indeed, not very high up at all. Prussia's bough was at least two or three branches above him, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

"Hey, kid?" Prussia's voice had softened. Not a good sign. "You know you don't have to go up any higher if you don't want to, right?"

Italy found he did not much like this new change in the albino's tone. Prussia was still standing on the ground, but now underneath the tree, and Italy saw that his head, shoulders, and even chest were completely above Italy's branch's level. He wasn't that high up, and this time he felt the searing heat as it was burned into his mind, as if by an iron brand. To his horror, he could feel the water pooling in his eyes, and when he tried to swallow a lump obstructed his throat.

"Hey, hey, hey! No, you don't have to cry!" That stricken expression. "I can carry you down if you don't wanna do it yourself, okay?" The distressed, rushed nature of Prussia's sentence. The assumption that he didn't want to, or couldn't do it himself.

"No!" Italy cried, and Prussia started back at the emotion in his tone. "I'll do it on my own!" The fire in his eyes had been rekindled, and when he gripped the next branch it was with a newfound perseverance. Not from a fear of heights had he been about to cry, Prussia realized, but from the realization of his dependence on others.

 _I'll get to Prussia's branch_ , Italy thought, mouth pressed into a firm line. _No, I'll go even higher._

Prussia watched, speechless, as Italy leapt from branch to branch. In his fervor, he seemed to know just where to put his hands. Taking into account his weak upper body strength, he used his momentum to swing himself up to the next branch instead of pulling himself up.

He was doing it! The young kingdom's sombre expression soon faded into one of delight. Accomplishment, the feeling of wind pushing back his copper tresses, liquid exhilaration running through his veins. Why hadn't he tried doing this before? It was great! Italy wondered why he had even been scared to try in the first place. But as he flew higher, and the taste of success grew more familiar with each second, Italy in turn grew more careless.

With Prussia's branch far below him, the stronger, thicker boughs started petering out. Nearer the top of the tree hung the smaller, spindly branches, barely clothed in green and with limited reach. At this new distraction, they turned drowsily to face the laughing child flailing his limbs among their number.

"I'm doing it, Prussia!" Italy yelled, grinning from ear to ear.

Prussia laughed uneasily, red eyes wide in apprehension. "Y-yeah, kid! But, um, don't you think you should slow down a bit?"

Italy faltered, and glanced down at Prussia from his seat on a particularly thin branch. The empire was still worried about him? Even after he'd proven that he could climb perfectly well? Was he _that_ much of a disappointment that everyone brushed off all of his achievements in favor of worrying about him?

He probably was.

Italy sighed and tugged on his apron, now riddled with twigs and leaves. Maybe it had been pointless to want to learn how to be awesome. He didn't think he was particularly capable of being so, not like Prussia with his easy arrogance and radiating aura. Hungary was super awesome, in her elegant not-so-elegant way, and even Austria had his smarts and music. Italy thought that Holy Rome was especially awesome, though not in the way his brother was. Holy Rome was awesome in the way that his eyes were blue, blue as the sky, in the way that his soft smile was genuine and his laugh was an orchestra, in the way that he looked at Italy as if he could do anything.

But Italy _couldn't_ do anything. He couldn't even climb one tree without people being worried about him. Maybe he should just stop and let other people do cool things, while he'd just continue being Useless Italy. It would probably be easier for everyone, anyway.

"Kid?" Prussia called up to him, hands on his hips. "You okay up there?"

Italy chanced a look at his surroundings, and suddenly noticed just how high up he was. The tips of the topmost branches barely reached past his head, and the clear sky spread around him in a blue dome. Yeah, Prussia was right when he said Italy should have slowed down. But he didn't listen, did he? Typical of him. He sighed again.

"Yes, Prussia, I'm fine," he replied quickly. "I'll be down in a minute."

Honestly, Italy had been expecting the branches to crack now that he was climbing down slowly, but they held fast and strong under his weight. With the lowest branch still a ways away from the ground, Prussia caught him as he leapt towards the grass.

"Oof," he gasped, stumbling a bit, "You're definitely not as light as you look like you are!"

Italy giggled into his fist, knowing that the other was simply acting, and pretended to kick the albino in the side as he set him down gently.

"So, kid!" Prussia regained that immortal grin that never seemed to stay away from his face for long. "What was that up there? You rocked it! Probably even better than me." He guffawed and reached down to ruffle Italy's hair.

Italy's smile slipped away when he remembered what he'd just done, or rather, failed to do. "Yeah. I guess."

Prussia reigned in his grin ("Impossible!") and crouched down to his level. "What you did up there was awesome. Really awesome, kid." He was earnest, Italy could see it.

But… was it supposed to be awesome? Was he _allowed_ to be? What was the point, he wondered, of doing those things if they would never be acknowledged? He couldn't do them properly anyway, so might as well stop, right? And moreover, he could get hurt, and he didn't enjoy getting hurt, so-

"Hey, kid." Prussia wasn't smiling anymore, and he was looking closely at Italy, scanning him, analyzing him. The young kingdom wanted to convince himself that Prussia couldn't analyze anything if he tried, but that didn't stop that creeping feeling of being unravelled, pulled apart piece by piece, under Prussia's scrutinizing gaze.

"I-I…." He swallowed. "I don't think I want to climb anymore trees."

Prussia didn't miss a beat. "Why not?" He demanded.

The child didn't answer. He looked down at his scuffed shoes and saw his feet kick themselves into the dried leaves. Prussia watched him silently.

Finally, he opened his mouth to mutter, "What's the point?"

For the first time since he'd met him, Italy saw Prussia frown. "Don't say that!" He chastised, and Italy was surprised to hear disapproval in his tone. Prussia leaned in close to the young kingdom and glared at him with red irises. "What's all of this about, eh? Why the sudden change of heart?" His eyes narrowed. "Why do you care what the point of this is?"

Prussia leaned back and swept a long arm to gesture to the surrounding grove of trees. "Do you think there's any point in climbing a tree? Wasting time up there, being able to break a leg? _No_!" He emphasized this by driving the butt of his saber into the coarse dirt. "There _isn't_ a point, and that's the point! To have fun!"

"But! B-but no one else seems to think there's a point!" Italy spluttered. "Nobody _cares_ if you can climb a tree or not, they'll still tell you to stop, and – and!" _It's impossible for me to be awesome_. He stopped abruptly upon seeing Prussia's face, though. Disappointment glazed his features and his lips were pulled into an uncharacteristically firm line.

Disappointment.

 _They're always disappointed in you, Useless Italy._

"Kid." Prussia's voice was quiet. Too quiet. Italy was immediately overwhelmed by this wrongness, this silence that shouldn't have existed, which should have been filled instead with insensitive jokes and braying laughter. "Why do you care what they think?"

Italy stared at his hands. He didn't know.

Prussia closed his eyes, and then opened them again. "Ita – can I call you that? – Italy, you know," he paused. "I wasn't always this awesome, you know."

Italy whipped his head up to stare at the white-haired general, who smiled a small, transparent smile, his eyes far away. Deciding to sit down, with Italy following suit, he jabbed a finger into the younger kingdom's stomach and chuckled. "I actually used to be as clumsy and goofy as you." Italy had a rising suspicion that Prussia's clumsiness and goofiness hadn't quite abated even in adulthood, but didn't interrupt him.

"And you know how I got like this?" Prussia raised an eyebrow at Italy. "By not caring what other people thought about me. And I did what I wanted, whenever I wanted. You wanna know the words a person said to me that made me do that, kid?" Italy didn't miss the way that Prussia's eyes flickered to the mansion window, to where Hungary was singing and dancing and cooking in the light of a dying afternoon.

He looked back at Italy and grinned. "'Would you rather live your life the way you want it, or the way you want other people to remember it?'" He didn't say anything else; just leaned back on the grass and watched as Italy let that sink in. _The way you wanted._ What did Italy want, anyway? "It doesn't matter, Ita. The only thing that matters is that you did it. Not whether they know it or not." Italy heard him instead of seeing him, and the words bounced around in his head.

"But there's something else, isn't there, kid?" Italy looked back at Prussia. He was more observant than met the eye, it seemed. "There's something else bothering you."

Italy pursed his lips as he fiddled with the frills on his apron. "Prussia, I…" He wasn't even sure what to ask. _Am I good enough? Am I useless? Am I a disappointment? Are you disappointed in me?_ He thought he knew the answers to all of those questions already.

"Am I _able_ to be awesome...?" He finally decided on asking, anxiety dripping off the question like fresh honey. "Is.. Is it something I can even be? Because I'm not…" He trailed away. _I'm not like you_.

"Italy…" Prussia huffed a laugh, and mussed up Italy's mop of copper locks. The pale skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. The birds twittered as the oak tree sighed, leaves swaying minutely, and Prussia's branch blotted out the weary glare of the sun.

"Italy, you are, in many, _many_ ways, more awesome than I will ever be." Prussia said to him, and Italy could tell it was genuine from the gentle curve of his smile and the warmth bursting forth from his chest.

 _ **fin**_


End file.
